Love Is the Way
by District4-divergent-nephilim
Summary: What love is to Dean Winchester.


**hey guyyyysssss this is in honor of season 10**

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><p>Love means something different to every person. But to me, love is:<p>

Love is the way you hold my hand in yours at night. Every night as we lie in bed, I wrap my arms around you and pull you to me, so that you'll never slip through my fingers again. And every night, your hand worms its way into mine and stays there, our fingers interlocked. After all, we have more than five years of lost time to make up for. Every touch we share is another minute regained.

Love is the way you groan "Just eight more minutes," every morning. I argue that we have a job to do and that we can't just sit around most of the time, but I stay with you anyway. Closing my eyes and simply breathing in your scent fills me with peace. After a few minutes, I always untangle myself from you and head to the kitchen in the bunker, to see if Sam has made any coffee yet. He always has, of course. And then, about ten minutes after asking for eight more minutes, you appear in the doorway of the kitchen, ready for the start of a new day.

Love is the way you smile when I hand you a cup of coffee. You come into the kitchen wearing my shirt and sweatpants, my robe, and a pair of my socks, and Sam notices and gives me a furtive glance, but says nothing. Your hair is plastered to one side of your face from where you've slept on it, but you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. You always look like an angel, and not just figuratively. You mumble something that I can't make out, and I pour you a cup of coffee as I refill my own mug. When I hand it to you, you nod and say thank you before wrapping your hands around it and taking a sip. Then you smile at the sweet taste (I fix it how you like it: black with lots of sugar), and quietly whisper that it's almost as sweet as me, just low enough that Sam can't hear. And I laugh and Sam will be confused, but I pass it off as nothing. He never argues.

Love is the way you keep me on task when we're on a job. When we're sitting around in the bunker doing research, I sometimes get distracted and end up reading something that is the opposite of what I'm supposed to be doing. I've told you a hundred times to be stern with me about this, but every time you just smile and set me back on track. You don't mind when the length of my attention span gets the better of me. I go back to researching how to gank this monster or that, and our work goes on.

Love is the way you shield me from harm. I don't need shielding, of course. I'm strong on my own. But it never hurts to have help, and it never hurts to have you around. When a monster is about to attack me, you throw yourself in front of me, raising your hand and vanquishing the creature in a blast of heavenly light. I get mad at you after, for not letting me do my job, but deep down I secretly enjoy being protected. It feels nice that anyone besides Sam cares about me enough to protect me.

Love is the way you heal me when I'm hurt. Sure, you protect me from that monster, but I'm always getting scratches and cuts. You simply run your hand over me and all my injuries fade away. And you do it with remarkable speed and gracefulness. I know that angels don't need to be touching someone to heal them, but the feel of your skin on mine is a great feeling.

Love is the way you encourage me to tell you my problems. Every night, I'm alone in my room in the bunker, thinking about my troubles. You come in and tell me to spill my thoughts. I tell you, and you wipe my slate clean. All the sins I've committed are gone, replaced by the grace you've given me.

Love is the way you ask to be with me. You sleep with me every night, yet you still make sure that I am comfortable with that. You always come into my room and ask "May I stay with you tonight?" and I always reply "As if you even need to ask." But I love how you ask anyway, because above all other things in our relationship, you want to make sure that I'm comfortable with our love.

Love is the way you whisper goodnight to me. Ever since you found out that my mother used to sing "Hey Jude" to me to get me to fall asleep when I was little, you've started to sing that, too. You sing the first verse and the chorus and I close my eyes and wrap my arms around you. You take my hand in yours and after you finish singing, you whisper "Angels are watching over you." And I nod and bury my face into your soft dark brown hair, because I haven't felt this safe since I was four, when my mother said that to me for the last time.

But there's a difference, you see: back then, I was just a little kid. I didn't know what angels were. After my mother died, I didn't believe in angels anymore. I slept restlessly, because angels didn't care about me.

But now I sleep easy, because I know one loves me.

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><p><strong>Hope you guys like it! read and review, please.<strong>


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